Cupid
by Carlis.B
Summary: Kristoph is dead, and is handed a job as Cupid. Now he has to return to the realm of all things mortal to matchmake his targets, which includes everyone from Phoenix with Maya to Vongole and Pess. Insanity included.
1. Attend me, Kristoph!

This is a side project that came around after a bout of 'Lissy, WILL YOU STOP WRITING ABOUT BUILDINGS BEING BLOWN APART?' from my friend. She insisted that my fics are too serious, and I need to relax before I blow up myself. The suggested therapy is that we 'co-write' something funny, and she'll provide the general idea. Insert intermission here, where she goes off to watch Cupid on TV. She comes back, and she is enlightened. We will write a fic where Kristoph is a cupid, make it funny, and she will do all the nagging and snack-eating while I do all the work.

I am excited.

Therefore.

Here you go.

**Disclaimer :** Humour is satirical, or depending on taste – does not exist. Multiple pairings.

* * *

_One : Kristoph, attend me!_

_-  
_

Heaven is not that nice a place.

In fact, heaven is gay on wheels, with everything in varying shades of white and pink and shiny gloss. It looks like something a little girl has smeared onto her fingers and stuck all over her Mother's Day card – except it's everywhere. And yes, it's everywhere. Everything is so sparkly here that you'll have trouble looking five feet ahead of you without pitch black glasses, and smack in the middle of the city of all things ridiculous, is Kristoph Gavin.

Ahem. It's rude to gap.

Now Kristoph has never been a religious person. In fact, his knowledge of the bible just about ended where someone had threw a couple of verses at him as he was leaving the courtroom, something about devils and demons and deviants and such such. But even he, a biblical ignorant person recognized that heaven is for good people, and hell is for bad people, and that Kristoph is an evil man.

Of course, unfortunately for him, some smart guy with wings on the back had came out with the ultimate way to be punish evildoers. You see, bad people hate being made to do good things. They lie, cheat, and desecrate public facilities. They do not like to live in a city where everything is goddamned white, where there is no leather, no junk food, no video games, no Nazis, and perhaps more importantly, no HBO. Instead, the good guys went to hell – where they got cigarettes and whores and 70% cocoa chocolate, not to mention, as a one-time only offer sir, free subscription to House and every episode of it hereafter ever made.

After all – the logic is this. Bad people are to be punished, and what better way to punish them than to make them spend 6 hours a day reading Descartes? And what better way to reward a lifetime of goodness with the best imported cigars?

Say yes, everyone, and raise your hands – and thus is how Kristoph ended up in heaven, living in a three-room apartment, and like right now – standing in front of the heavenly courthouse in a white suit that made him look no different from the white walls.

"Mr. Gavin, sir?" A blonde head poked through the heavy double doors to look at him, and Kristoph turned his head this way and that. The courtyard beamed back at him, Grecian pillars and gaudy elaborate carved floors that looked like something out of a church. Or a museum, take it however you will - but it was empty but for a gust of wind, and Kristoph thought it should be even more obvious to her than him.

"Are you Mr. Gavin, sir?" She asked again, giving him a confused look. Kristoph sighed. Whoever hired these 'angels' must have a fondness somewhere for blondes, because every 'angel' he has seen so far had hair as golden as his. Whether they fall into the unfortunate stereotype or not, that is entirely predetermined.

"Yes, I am Gavin."

"Oh. Good," She beamed, and gestured at him to follow her. The heavy doors creaked apart (because they're electronic, not through karma power or something) and Kristoph took after her, looking boredly this way and that and pointedly trying to keep his eyes off her hair, which was reflecting the light to the point of unbearable. As usual, the hall, like every other building in heaven, is white all over. Perhaps God had supplied too much white paint, and now it's been used to paint every floor, every door, every wall.

He followed her down the hallway and turned a couple before she stopped and gestured at the door.

"Here you are. The Judge is waiting for you."

Kristoph inclined his head politely and entered the room. Sitting on what appeared to be a courtroom like place with (more!?) white podiums and gavels and public galleries – was the Judge. Apparently, all judges are cut from the same cloth or something, Kristoph mused, because this guy don't look too different from the judges you see back down on good old Earth. Same frosty white beard, same faulty eyes – the only difference is his robe is snowy white, and he had wings stuck behind his back. This might be a good sign, because if he turns out to be half as hopeless as the mortal judges, manipulating him would be child's play.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Gavin!" He boomed.

Kristoph winced. "Please, Your Honour – turn down that mic."

"Ah! So sorry!" The judge hit the off button for the mic, and his voice immediately went back to it's usual self. "I see you're fine as ever, uh..."

"Mr. Gavin."

Please, someone issue us all name tags. God forbid we should remind people of our names all day long.

"Right, right – let's see here..." The man held up a file as thick as Kristoph's thumb and held it under the light, squinting blindly at it. This took all of five minutes - in that time which Kristoph has determined that all furniture in room seems to be made out of styrofoam – before he announced. "Ah! You've requested for a new apartment?"

"Yes," He said simply. Isn't it written in bold, on the first page, in size 72 font?

"May I ask why?"

"You may not." Kristoph stated flatly. "I believe it's all in the paperwork, Your Honour. I would prefer that you ask me any questions you have_ after _you have actually read it."

"Of course! Um. Which page is it on?"

Kristoph sighed. Will he never escape the indignation of people with an indigence of gray matter? First there was Justice, who cannot tell him who-did-it if his life depended on it, and now this. No matter. "The application will generally have the applicant's form on the fifty-seventh page...Your Honour."

"Of course!" More flipping. "Ah, there it is. It says here that you're unsatisfied with the furniture and location of the area?"

"Yes," He replied. His house is situated in the junction between the Angelic Academy for the Altruistically Acceptable Tone Deaf and the Concave Construction Structure for the Mechanically Inclined. Between a singing school and a school for people to learn how to operate a drill, you can understand if he is not amused by the amount of sound pollution.

"But it's right in the middle of the Twilight Boulevard! It's quite the sparkly neighbourhood! Why, to even get into this- this amazing neighbourhood, you have to have sawed-off cheekbones and one-inch mouths! I've been applying for an apartment there myself!"

"Your Honour," Kristoph said, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Perhaps you would like to exchange residence with me?"

"Eh...No, perhaps not. My gavel collection cannot be easily moved."

Kristoph mock-sighed. "That is all very well, Your Honour – but would you mind signing on the dotted line now and approve that I be immediately removed to Malkuth Avenue immediately?"

The Judge nodded amiably and raised his quill before -

"Hold it!"

Kristoph, who had been contemplating how his new house might be presented, and the necessary Feng Shui adjustment that might be needed was interrupted when the Judge exclaimed.

"You can't pull a fast one on me, Mr. Gavin!"

"No?"

"No! It says here you haven't acquired the necessary credits! You haven't done an ounce of charity duty since you first enroll here, Mr. Gavin!"

Kristoph blinked. Charity duty...? What charity duty? His brain buzzed, not having been used much since he died and went to heaven. You generally don't have to make many decisions here, other than if you want treacle with that pudding.

"What charity duty?" He asked at last, almost afraid to know the answer.

"Charity duty!" The judge boomed. "Charity duty! Do good! Go to the realm of humans and be their guardian angels! Save them when they're falling from bridges! Use the power of belief to bounce them right back up! That charity duty – surely you can't not know, Mr. Gavin?"

Oh. That charity duty. The one he's been skipping out on since day one.

"Well, what about it?" He snapped back defensively. "I wasn't aware that anything I do is short of perfect – or do you doubt my integrity, Your Honour?"

"I urk. Of course not – but Mr. Gavin?"

"Yes?" Kristoph glowered menacingly at the Judge.

"You can't be all that good if you ended up in heaven."

Urk.

* * *

Half an hour later, Kristoph almost felt like he was back alive as a lawyer again. He was drowning in paperwork, stacks of them leering at him left, right and middle, strewn all over the table like snow on white Christmases.

"So...These are my options if I want to move out of that hellhole?"

"That's right," The Judge told him, nodding away on his gavel. "You can either serve fifty years of good ol' Charity Duty – and by fifty years I mean literally fifty years of on-duty time – or you can serve as an Archangel."

"And...What does an archangel's duty include?"

"You listen to the troubles and woes of the troubled, you listen to that which troubles them, and through the light you will endeavour to channel some goodwill--"

"Next," Kristoph said quickly. "Is there no other option? Because my current apartment is driving me out of my mind."

"Not really," The judge replied, looking bored as Kristoph sift through the paperwork. "Well. Hmm. Let me check, maybe we have open vacancies on the higher calling – those should accumulate your credits faster." He looked up. "Alternatively of course, you can of course, apply for a fund – just photocopy two copies of your ID, apply to the AGD, the AFI, the AGC and the-"

"You were saying something about higher calling?"

"Ah right! Let's see here..." He removed a form from a towering stack of paper that wobbled precariously over the judge's bench and looked on the verge of falling and frowned at it. "We have a vacancy here I think."

"Well, what is it?" Kristoph interjected impatiently, tapping one loafer foot and folding his arms.

"There's an opening for someone to serve as Cupid for the L.A district – it's all the way up in the First Sphere, so it pays pretty good credits."

"Cupid." Kristoph cringed at the idea of going around, acting as Agony Aunt for every Tom, Dick, and Phoenix out there. A matchmaker for God's sake, and he was an atheist of the highest order when it came to the religion of love. Still, anything was better than hearing Ave Maria fifteen thousand times a day in his own house – it even drowned out all the beautiful Bach he's had on on his stereo.

"Alright," He sighed, knowing he'll regret this later. "What's the credit like?"

"You get forty-seven to the power of nine credits a month, and at the end of one term of service, you will be provided with a silk Saint Hood, a new pair of iridescent wings, and pointy-toed caramel coloured shoes. Oh! And since it's service rendered for the Cherubs, you'll get a free Love of Your Life thrown in."

Kristoph blinked.

"I don't want a Love of My Life."

"No, no, it's not a Love of My Life, it's a Love of Your Life."

"Yes, that's the point, I don't want a Love of Your Life."

"Excuse me, Mr. Gavin – are you implying that I'm not attractive!?" The gavel was waved threateningly in his face.

"No, what I meant to say is-- Never mind. Just hand me that contract, Your Honour." He said wearily. Still looking distrustfully at him, as though he suspected him of blasphemous thoughts, The Judge handed the contract to him over the edge of the judge's bench.

"Sign on the dotted line with your blood please, Mr. Gavin."

Kristoph blinked. "I don't have any – I'm dead."

"Oh. In that case, good old red ink will do just fine."

Kristoph nodded, and removing an ever-present pen on his coat pocket, signed his named elegantly onto the contract, scrawling it artistically just to give it that extra _oomph_. When he was done, he handed it back to the Judge. The moment the Judge set down his quill to approve of it, an ethereal voice boomed in the courtroom.

"_Congratulations, Mr. Gavin! You're now employed as Eros No.3567, Division One, Cherubim – Project L6! Please report to your working place in three working days. Of course, we're understanding and compassionate and kind, so if you have any difficulties, any difficulties at all, feel free to stay at home and recuperate! For any inquiries, please contact our Viagra division for assistance. Have a nice day – and remember, Amor Vincit Omnia!_"

Kristoph sighed.

_For better Feng Shui, Kristoph, for better Fengshui._


	2. Note

After five billion years, I thought I'll come on here and tag on a note. This won't be developed into a fanfiction, unfortunately, as I've quitted the fanfiction scene for the time being. However, I've recently taken this idea and developed it as original fiction, so for those interested, it's available here:

fictionpress -dot- com/s/3066531/1/Cupid

It features a full cast of original characters, so there won't be random Kristophs lying around. It features:

-One shitty dad who died in his pizza-stained shirt

-An anal retentive angel from the 18th century

-Lots of convulated heavenly bureaucracy

Basically just this story in a sharper form. I just thought I'll put this here if anyone's interested. (:


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